War Of The Roses
by lauramarieke
Summary: Alice Kirkland is a girl fighting in the trenches of WW1 under the pretense of being a man. 'Alistair' Kirkland thinks trench warfare couldn't throw her around more, until she comes across an American who is so oblivious that she feels comfortable that her secret will never come out. US X Fem!UK (eventually) Rated T because I know what I'm like.
1. Chapter 1

"5"

I looked around me. I saw Darren sweating, eyes wide. He must be scared. How adorable.

"4"

I looked the other side. Huh, they looked nervous too. Maybe I was the odd one out here. Wait, I already knew that.

"3"

I looked ahead. I held the rifle closer to my chest whilst my hands twitched, and felt the grenades hanging loosely from my belt, weighing me down. This is a disadvantage I could not voice out loud, not if I wanted to be discovered. Now or never, I thought to myself calmly.

"2"

I heard a sob, but didn't bother looking around. They weren't worth my time, not if they couldn't handle themselves.

"1, move out men!"

Men. Uh. I charged out in front, carrying myself proudly. Fighting was a necessity, one I was willing to bear the weight of on my shoulders. I wasn't just fighting for myself. I was fighting for my granddad, my brother, but most importantly, I was fighting for England, my fatherland, my home, and by God, I was willing to die for it.

* * *

I held the helmet from one of the men at my feet in front of my face, as the gas gracefully manoeuvred its way across the field. The playing field. War was like a game of chess I'd soon begun to realise. We were the pawns, easily scarified to the advantage of the player, whose only concerns were the ones by it's side, the big shots. Pawns were meaningless, large in number and useless in the bigger picture yet always played first. What many had forgotten however was that pawns can make their way to the oppositions side of the playing field and evolve into something that can change the entire game. Never underestimate a pawn.

I took the unused grenades from the two dead at my feet. I couldn't mourn, I recognised their faces, but why feel for those who cannot. My main priority was making it back alive. Though dying out here would be a better way to go that the inevitable aftermath of my comrades finding out about me. Females are meant as an accessory, as a tool. My willingness to die for my friends and my country is meaningless simply for my decided gender, which gives you the impression that the men would rather keep their pride and power over women who are willing to help than win this war. Maybe we all simply deserve to die after all.

A sudden whizzing noise brought me out of my thoughts and I instinctively ducked. Grenade or machine gun, place your bets, place your bets. The loud whooshing noise and the ground vibrating enough for me to hit it with my body gave me my answer. My leg suddenly flared up in pain and I muffled a groan whilst I saw blood seeping through my uniform. My head snapped from my leg to the air when I heard a sound that made me flinch. Screams. People were screaming. People were losing limbs, if not their lives out here. Neither side truly deserves to win this battle the way it's going. I'm not stupid enough to realise we are just buying them time to build something that can replace us, and if we die before their new inventions we will simply be replaced by other people. That's the circle of war. I grunted whilst I tried to move my leg closer to my chest as I ripped the sleeve of some man's uniform. He wouldn't be needing it anyway. Wrapping it around my leg I looked around for any signs of life. There was just dust, gas and the smell of blood hanging in the air. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe dying would be better than this.

But that would be weak. That would be like the men out here. We couldn't have just men fighting these battles anymore, we've seen the aftermath of that time after time, a simple battle for pride, human lives seeming nothing compared to the _all so_ sweet and deserved victory waiting for them. The anger I had for the men I was fighting for, no, the men who I could only wish I was fighting with could only be brought out on the enemy. Such is the way of war.

I debated this whilst crawling back to the trench, back _home. _Calling them out will only land me in trouble, will put me under suspicion of being a traitor. My hands were tied, more than they have ever been.

"Sir!" I called out, hoping to find our base in between the mounds of dirt and blood.

"Kirkland, is that you lad?" I heard the general call. I appreciated the efforts of the general; he made this place slightly bearable. "Ay" I shouted, whilst hands reached mine and pulled me back in. When in the safely of our walls I pulled my blonde fringe, cut short along with my hair when I made my initial decision from my face and in my helmet.

"God lad, your leg, are you 'urt" he spluttered as he acknowledged my now stained trouser leg and damaged boot.

"It's nothing I can't deal with, simply the effects of grenades" I muttered to him whilst attempting to stand with the support from his arm. "I'll get washed up and that'll be the end of it" I spoke confidently whilst looking him in the eye.

He looked like we was going to complain, a worried look in his eye, but he let it go. I knew he cared about us, his soldiers, unlike many others, so I couldn't feel any contempt at him for doubting me.

"Woah, dude did you screw that uniform over or what? Here, let me give you a hand" are the accented words I heard before a unfamiliar hand lifted me up from my knees and waist and held me up high.


	2. Chapter 2

After the initial shock of being held lifted, I started protesting. A lot more dramatically then was probably necessary, but duty calls.

"Get your hands off me, this is rather undignified!" I snarled at him, clawing at him and upon hearing him chuckle. I looked up at the face just hovering slightly above my own. His dirty blonde hair and blue eyes seemed… unfamiliar. And boyish- they bring them here that young?

"I'm guessing you just got here, you're new" I spoke, looking down. Really, this boy should be looking after his 'mummy' not shooting down men.

"Arrived fresh this morning" he announced, grinning ear to ear. Was he excited? A day or two and that will almost definably change. Most people didn't at first realise what they were getting into. I would feel sorry for him but his lack of care whilst carrying me despite my injuries and unwillingness shot that horse in the face.

"Looks like I've found another guy to join my glasses crew" he said, whilst nodding his head in the direction of the spectacles of my face. I couldn't tell him that my eye sight was fine but the only reason I wore them was that they masked my face.

"Your accent…"

"I'm from America" he interrupted, looking proud of the announcement of his nationality, practically jumping for joy (and not helping me). Well I couldn't complain; it was a trait we shared.

"Hmm" I murmured as I suddenly felt the blood loss get to me and my head feel like it was about to burst. 'Don't faint, don't faint, don't faint' I repeated in my head, trying to un-blur the view in front of me. The Americans constant rocking did nothing to help this though thinking about it, after seeing it the amount of times that I did, blurring actually made it look better. My breathing suddenly stopped and my arms went limp.

"Yo, dude? Dude!?" I barely heard above me as everything fell to black.

* * *

My head. It felt like I'd drunk an entire barrel of beer, but knew this to be impossible. After the last 'incident' there was a very limited supply of alcohol, and that was only used for medical use. Or so the officials thought.

I felt a sudden breeze tickle at my stomach and chest, and huffed, annoyed at the limited supplies and coldness of the trenches. Then it dawned on me…

"WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK" I screeched as I saw my jacket and shirt hanging on the chair next to me. Shocked, I glanced down to see my bandages used to conceal God's greatest inconvenience to women and a certain American sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Okay, not going to lie, that was more vocal than I anticipated"

"You git! You utter git! How dare you take my clothes off, especially when I was out cold! Have you no decency?!" I shouted in his direction.

"Dude calm down, I didn't mean anything by it! There was just blood on your top half so we took them off along with the trousers. I mean we're both guys, no big deal right? Or did I break some old ridiculous English rule I didn't know of?"

'Both guys?' Was he for real? I saw my glasses on the chair and quickly shoved them on before he would notice anything.

"Oh and by the way, next time you're injured you should tell someone medical, a bandage isn't always gonna cut it" he said, pointing towards my chest.

Wow. Fuckerty wow. Maybe he was younger than I thought. My original estimation was 16 but unless his mum was an overprotective nun I was way out. I was 98% sure they had breasts in America. Of course they did, they came from us, what was I thinking. The other option is that he's dumb as hell, which judging by the goofy smile he's giving me expecting me to tell him he's done a good job, could be correct.

Wait. Trousers? I looked down to see myself only in boxer shorts, so I was safe there. Play it cool Alice, keep calm and don't freak out. Don't make even more of a scene.

"Oh right. Let me apologise, I just woke up unsure of anything and to discover myself clothe less was a bit worrying"

That hurt to spew out, damn this man and further damn my pride. I could only blame my father for that though.

"No worries man, I'm always here to help!" Help? Wow, a man who can unclothe me whilst passed out and considers it a job well done, what a catch.

He placed a pile of clean clothes on my cot and stood.

"Here, change into these when you get your energy back, then come straight back out, okay? We need all the help we can get at this stage" he spoke excitedly, giving a little grin and a thumbs up before walking towards the door. 14, maybe? He acted like 12. That's a lie, he acted 6.

"Wait, solider, I never got your name?" I slipped out before I could help myself. I told myself I was being polite, or for another word, British.

"Uh… um, Alfred, Alfred F. Jones!"

'You sure about that' I wanted to ask. Never trust a man who is uncertain about his own name.

"Alic-Alistair Kirkland" I said. Wow, looks like two could play at this game.

'Alfred' smiled and gave a painfully energetic salute before evacuating the tent and leaving me wondering what the hell the American was doing here.


End file.
